Lost
by Sylver Secret
Summary: Why buckle up if you’ll be tossed into the vacuum of space? “What’s going on?” She asked breathlessly. Trowa smiled. Now he smiles, she thought almost bitterly. Was he mocking her?
1. Chapter 1

Anniversaries have a funny way of evoking powerful memories. Read and Review, this is a topic a little closer to home than usual.

"_Real loss only occurs when you lose something you love more than yourself."_

_--Anonymous_

**Lost**

"Oh my God," Catherine whispered hoarsely. She clutched her heaving, swollen stomach. Her breath quickened. There was something terribly wrong. Pain shot through her entire body. It was absolutely excruciating. Her legs buckled, and she tumbled onto the cold linoleum floor of the bathroom. A choked sob erupted from her throat, as she lay quaking on the white tiles. Tears stained her cheeks, dripped on to her lips and splashed onto the floor. She could not stop them. They would snake out of her eyes. They just kept coming. Catherine wondered how many tears it would take for her to finally drown in them. However many tears fell, it could not even begin to amount to the blood.

There was blood everywhere. It seemed to pour out of her—gush even. Her hands were slick with it. It stained the toilet seat; it dripped from the bowl of the sink. There was a long trail on the once pristinely white shower curtain, where she had attempted to catch herself as she fell. A wave of pain ran through her, pervading her entire body—like waves of electricity. Catherine made no attempt to aim for the toilet bowl. She retched violently onto the floor beside her head. Her brown hair was plastered against her scalp and neck. It was soaked with blood, sweat tears, and now bile. And suddenly, amongst all the pain… In the midst of her bodily chaos, there was a very pronounced and debilitating emptiness. It started small, growing and growing exponentially. As it grew, the pain died, her insides decayed. The gory scene before her disappeared. It was suddenly trivial.

"She's gone," Catherine whispered tearfully. A sob forced its way out of her body. The connection she had once felt, the light that glowed within her was gone. There was no sign of warmth, no sign of the tiny life. Catherine descended into frantic hysteria. Why was this happening? What did she do? Thousands of questions ran rampant in her mind, but it all of them boiled down into one, two-worded phrase. In her mind it answered everything, even though it didn't answer anything it all. It was simply the only thing that mattered.

"She's gone, she's gone, she's gone!" Her body rocked back and forth. Her porcelain skin was pale from horror and blood loss. Catherine's despairing mantra became nothing more than unintelligible sobbing. She let it all out. There was no one nearby to hear her. No one to come to her and coddle her, to hold her hair as she retched. No one to whisper sweet nothings to; no promises of impending better times. There were no devotions of love, and life to come. There was no comfort, no warmth. Just cold floors, covered in blood. Just cold, dark, emptiness.

"She's really gone…" She breathed, despairing. It was her last coherent thought before her vision swam with spots and faded to darkness.

Catherine awoke several hours later in a daze. Her vision was blurred, and her limbs felt weak. Slowly, she sat up. The pain in her swollen belly had decreased, but the oppressive emptiness was still there. Several moments passed before she felt the strength o stand. Catherine turned on the faucet, and began to wash away the blood. Peripherally, her eyes caught the shape of a very dark, deep red mass. The blood around it was thick and clotted. Not bothering to turn off the water, she turned towards the mass. She blinked her vision clear, and leaned closer. Her mind confirmed her horrifying suspicion. There was an outline of a painfully tiny child. No bigger than the size of her palm. Catherine shrieked. Sobs viciously racked her body. She could not bear to look at her. She grabbed the dark blue towel from the silver rack behind her, and tossed it over the bloody figure. Catherin wrapped her up, and gently placed her on the windowsill. She began cleaning once more, still sobbing quietly. Once the bathroom was clean, she turned on the shower. For a long time she just stood there, letting the hot water pummel her skin. It felt good, as dollops of warmth cascaded down her shoulders. Her hair hung in her face, but she didn't mind. The hot water coursed down her face like tears. The tears began again. She slid down to the floor of the tub, watching the pink water course towards the drain.

"Ama," Catherine whispered, stroking her stained stomach. The name fell sadly from her lips. She stood carefully, and held the still visible swell.

Someone knocked at the door. She turned off the shower, and wrapped herself in the extra towel. Catherine opened the door, holding the rolled up towel under her arm. It was Trowa. His quiet green eyes always evoked sadness in her. They reminded her of her lost little brother, Triton. However, this time, they brought comfort. She smiled slightly.

"Shouldn't you be dressed already?" He questioned, looking down at his watch. It was fifteen minutes till eight. They had a show to do. Catherine gasped, still clutching her makeshift winding sheet.

"Five minutes." She said quietly. Catherine pushed passed him to her dressing room. Did he notice the blood seeping through the towel? She hoped not.

Trowa nodded and headed towards the circus tent. He had noted something different about Catherine, but could not place it. There was something missing. However, Trowa was not sure what it was in the first place. Perhaps it was the look in her eyes, or the half-hearted attempt at a smile. Of course, he did not say anything. He never said anything.

And for a very long time, neither did she.

…….

Forgive me for any OOC-ness. I am considering continuing this—perhaps because the chapter in my life has not yet closed. Why should hers? That said—take it or leave it for what it is. Review though; I'm interested in what you think.


	2. Chapter 2

Alright---I'm doing another installment. I'm not sure why. This is going to be very AU. I'm trying to keep things in character as possible, but if you notice slips—just let me know.

Sylver

"_It think it is the emptiness... from deep within your belly. Where a special baby nestled... safe and secure... for such a short time. The empty room you carry around in your head, decorated in cute bunnies, soft white lace and a big comfortable rocking chair. _

_The empty crib where a sweet tousled head was meant to rest. The empty chair at your table... meant for a wiggly toddler smearing his food. A clumsy five year old slurping her milk. A lanky twelve-year old passing the peas. _

_Your empty arms... aching to cuddle a precious little body. To hug a troubled child. Empty hands ready to rub a little back. Or help a toddling child hold tight crossing a busy street. _

_An emptiness in your heart." --Born to Love_

----

**Lost**

Trowa watched Catherine. She sat on the windowsill, absently stroking her abdomen. Her pale, hazel eyes were distant. They were glazed with tears she refused to cry in front of him. Catherine lowered her gaze to the floor, and sighed. A slight frown marred Trowa's normally impassive face. He felt like he should do something, or at least say something. But as always…he was at a loss for words. He did not know what to say; he did not know how to help her. Catherine had been so quiet. It had been a few weeks. The first few days, he thought it would pass on its own. He thought that, because she was so strong—she would fix it herself. The days had already melded into weeks. How long was she to be like that? What happened? Trowa was a man of few words, but that had always been the case. Catherine had been outgoing and talkative. She always spoke her mind, damning the consequences. Suddenly that vitality vanished. She became withdrawn, all but silent. At night he would hear her soft sobs through the walls.

"Cathy…" He called gently. She looked up at him with sunken eyes—on the verge of tears. Trowa sat down beside her.

"What's wrong?" He asked. Catherine just shook her head. Her auburn curls bounced as she moved. She forced a miniscule, pathetic smile.

"Nothing," She replied, and turned to look out the window once more. Trowa inwardly sighed. He never thought he would be the one begging her to talk.

"Please, tell me," His plea was so tender and gentle. It was like a child's plea. Catherine whimpered, her shoulders suddenly quaking. A tear coursed down her pale cheek. Trowa wiped it away with a single finger. More tears came, she could not halt them. Her face reddened, and she brought her hands to her face. Catherine got up to walk away, but Trowa seized her by the arm.

"I want to help," He said, pulling him towards her. Catherine's resolved crumbled, and she collapsed into his arms. The sobs exploded from deep within her. Her body quaked violently. He just held her and let her cry. It was the least he could do. They sat like that for a while. Trowa did not mind—he preferred the sobs to her distant, out of character silence. There was passion in everything she did—normally. The passive lackluster in her eyes was unbearable. Trowa was able to comprehend passionate grief more than the cold distance. Simply because the latter was unnatural for the Catherine he had grown to care for.

"Cathy?" Trowa asked. Her sobs had quieted significantly. She whimpered in response. He tightened his embrace.

"Say something," He implored.

"I lost her…" She murmured into his chest. Trowa arched a fine eyebrow.

"Who?"

"Ama," She whispered. A sob strangled her voice, and she began to weep even more bitterly than before. Trowa patiently waited for her hysterics to die down. As she cried, he racked his thoughts for names. Who was Ama? The name was completely foreign to him. When the sobs trickled to a reasonably slow pace, he continued his careful line of questioning.

"Who is Ama?" Catherine sucked in a breath, and Trowa inwardly cringed. He could sense the pending wave of grief, and braced himself for it. Her laments were even more extreme than before, but this time she did not stop talking.

"My baby," She cried between sobs, "She was my baby," Catherine continued to talk, but the words were lost between cries. She started speaking faster, more urgently. Trowa couldn't understand her; it had become unintelligible sobbing.

_Baby? _Trowa mused to himself, _what baby?_

Catherine took a deep breath, and tried to control her sobbing. She suddenly felt naked and ashamed. She was falling apart at the seams, and it felt like Trowa was literally holding her together. _How could I be so selfish?_ She berated herself, _Look at him: He needs more comfort than I do…_Catherine straightened up suddenly, and pulled away from him. Trowa's eyes widened slightly in surprise. Cold air replaced the warmth where her body had pressed against his. He hadn't minded having her in his arms. It made him feel strong. It made him feel like her guardian, like she needed him. It felt good---better than people running away in fear.

"I'm sorry, Trowa." She whispered, wiping her face with the back of her hands. Catherine sniffed, and Trowa offered a small smile.

"Don't be. You don't have say anything. You've just been so distant…like me. Turn back into the strong, happy girl I once knew." Trowa's tone was a hushed and tender. His gentle plea brought a smile to her tear-stained face. The smile quickly faded, and she pressed both hands on her flattened stomach. She took another deep breath. _Perhaps I should tell him, _Catherine mused to herself, _and maybe it will help. But God…I'm so damned **empty.**_

"I was five months pregnant, Trowa." Catherine stated plainly, she sniffed quietly. It sounded so simple---all of her agony boiled down into one sentence. Surprise flickered in his emerald green eyes. She could see the questions running through his eyes. She could see the confusion. Catherine smiled sadly, and continued.

"I was terrified, but I wanted that child---I wanted it so badly." Catherine hung her head low, placing a single hand across her forehead. Through the tears, Trowa saw the spark of happiness when she spoke. Even with her swollen, red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks…he could see the deep affection.

"I know I'm young, and I was so scared---I didn't know anything about raising a child…" She trailed off for a moment, her lips twisted in a wistful smile, "I could feel her growing inside me, and she was _alive._ She was _pure life_. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever felt." Catherine sighed; the tears flowed silently down her cheeks. Trowa just marveled at the wide spectrum of emotions existing simultaneously in her lavender eyes. Sorrow, love, hope, emptiness. He was at a loss for words, so he said nothing.

"She was so pure—she was so innocent. She was just life. She knew nothing of war, of pain—of hate. She wasn't dirty, she wasn't jaded like me."

"Why do you think you're dirty?" Trowa asked gently. Catherine lowered her eyes to the floor. Her expression darkened, and the look in her eyes became even more distant. Trowa was very familiar with that particular expression. The distance in her eyes was no longer the foreign look from before. He had seen it on the faces of many—even his own. It was a mixture of emotions: taint, disgust, anger, and invasion. She had been raped—it was evident in her piercing gaze. Another tear snaked down her cheek. She sat down beside Trowa once more, putting her head on his shoulder. He did not embrace her. He furrowed his brow at the abhorrent thought. Hatred seeped into his features. All she had to do was say the word. He would kill him with his bare hands without a second thought.

"Who hurt you?" There was a dangerous edge in his voice that Catherine had never heard before. It startled her, but she only gave a resigned sigh.

"A few years back, a little bit before you joined the circus. One of the new acts---he called himself Man of Steel. I never knew his real name…" Her voice was hushed, trailing to nothing more than a whisper, "No one was there." She was not reduced to sobs. Catherine spoke with the saddened resignation of years of pain, and finally acceptance. Trowa's heart felt heavy in his chest. _It's different when someone you care for is hurt…it's impossible to ignore. _He thought.

"But after that, I felt…"

"Tainted, inside. Like you could never be pure again…" Trowa supplied quietly. Catherine nodded, and sucked in a breath. Tears still idly trickled down her cheeks.

"But, Ama was pure. She was clean. She was the only innocent part of me—this little beacon of hope, of a new beginning…But now…" A sob crept up in her throat, and caused her voice to quaver. She tried beginning again.

"But now…" Her voice cracked, "She's gone!" A wail drew out the vowel sound of the last word, and her body began to shake again. Trowa tentatively put an arm around her. The tears showed no signs of slowing up. She sobbed and she sobbed. The bitter sound tugged at his heartstrings; he wished he could alleviate her sorrow. But there was so little he could do. He was not a magician. He was not at all qualified to comfort a grieving woman, but he had to. So, he just held her until she cried herself to sleep.

_I wish you wouldn't cry like this, Catherine, _Trowa thought has carried her to her bedroom. He gingerly laid her down, and pulled the bedding over her slumbering form. Her breaths were slow and deep, her auburn hair falling in her face. Trowa pushed a strand out of her face. She was the closeting thing he had to family; He had to protect her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Lost**

Trowa in front of his vid-phone, inwardly sighing. It had been three days since Catherine had opened up to him, but she did not seem get any better. He could still here her crying at night. It kept him awake. The same tears that saved his life during the war were slowly killing him. Anytime he tried to approach her, she pushed him away. When it was performance time, she would simply wash her face and get dressed. The mask she wore was impenetrable—like his. However, her hollow smile would almost be believable. Almost, if he didn't hear her tears at night.

"Trowa! So good to see you!" Quatre called, smiling cheerfully into the vid-phone. Trowa didn't return the smile, he sighed—audibly. Quatre never actually heard him sigh.

"What's the problem, Trowa?" He asked. Trowa's eyes flickered with sadness, and he looked in the general direction of Catherine's room. He sighed again.

"It's Cathy," He said finally, "She's hurting…I don't know how to help her, Quatre."

"What happened?"

Trowa stalled, wondering if he should tell Quatre. Was it his place to divulge her secrets? Would she be angry at him? Would Quatre be able to help at all? Why was this so difficult? He had so many questions, but Catherine was no condition to respond. She was so fragile, Trowa was afraid he could not protect her.

"Trowa, you look awful, please talk to me," Quatre pleaded.

"I've been up for days. Catherine sobs all night—she won't let me help," He replied. Quatre's eyes widened, drinking in his comrades words and demeanor. He could see the evidence of sleep-deprivation. There were bags under his eyes, and his green eyes were listless. His skin was paler than usual, and his hair fell straight forward into both of his eyes.

"Why? What's wrong with Catherine? Why does she cry?" He asked.

"During the day, she's so quiet. It worries me, was never like that before. She always talked to me—even when I didn't want to hear it. She just does the performances, and hides in her room…"

"Did you get her to talk?"

Trowa nodded, "She had a miscarriage."

It seemed so wrong to boil down all of her pain and suffering into a simple sentence. Four simple words, but the emotions were anything but simple. Quatre's eyes quivered with sympathy. Trowa envied how Quatre had the option of being distantly sympathetic. He didn't have to lie in bed, trying to sleep while his closest friend wept bitterly.

"Goodness, I'm so sorry. How far along was she?" Quatre asked.

"Five months," Trowa responded quietly. Quatre seemed physically harmed by the news. He put his hand over his heart.

"That must be difficult. One of my sisters miscarried when trying natural birth—she was only a few weeks along though it still broke her heart. Has she seen a doctor?"

"No, she's hardly left her room," Trowa responded, "Is she physically in danger?"

"I don't know. She could be, she would have lost a lot of blood—there could be internal damage. She also needs to see a psychiatrist."

"She's not going to like that," Trowa responded. Quatre looked pained.

"But it's important—the suicide rates in women after that experience are through the roof, Trowa. You said it yourself—you are worried that you can't help her. It's okay to get help," He explained gently. Trowa sighed, and Quatre gave him a saddened smile.

"You have to take care of yourself too, you know? You can't do everything!"

"I want to help. If you had seen her…you would understand. She's so fragile right now…"

"What aren't you telling me?" Quatre questioned, his blue eyes probing Trowa's green. There was a flash of anger in his green eyes. Hatred darkened his expression. Quatre waited patiently for his friend's response.

"She felt like the child was the only pure part of her…"

"What do you mean, Trowa?"

"She was raped not long ago—it made her feel dirty, undeserving. The child was like her way to regain her innocence and she lost it."

"That's one of the saddest things I've ever heard," Quatre whispered, "Make sure to tell her it's _not_ her fault. Try to be patient and understanding, make sure that she takes care of herself. Don't leave her alone."

"I don't think she would kill herself—she stopped me, remember?" Trowa mused. He idly touched his cheek where she had smacked him long ago. Quatre shook his head.

" Even so…She's not in her normal state of mind, she needs love and support. Who is the father? Why isn't he here helping her? "

Trowa looked away, shrugging, "I don't know."

"I'm sorry to have to cut this conversation short, but…I" He began, but Trowa dismissibely interrupted with a wave of his hand.

"It's okay, I understand. Good-bye, Quatre."

"Good-bye, Trowa, try to get some rest. I will call you later."

Quatre's worried blue eyes disappeared as Trowa ended the call. He held his head up with one hand on his forehead. The painfully familiar sounds of Catherine's crying came from the other room. He sighed. A moment passed before he found himself standing outside her door. He rapped lightly on the door, and it swung open slightly.

"Not now, Trowa…" She said—her voice did not sound like she was crying. In fact, if he didn't see the evidence of tears on her face, he would have thought she was fine.

"Catherine, please don't push me away…I just want to help," He said gently as he entered the room. Catherine lay on the bed, facing away from the door. Her lithe body was pulled into a fetal position on top of the covers. From across the room, he noticed the very slight quaking of her shoulders.

"You can't help me," She replied—her voice slightly quavering. He sat on the edge of the bed, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"I can try," He stated, his voice almost a whisper, "I understand that you're hurting, but—" Catherine's body went rigid, and she turned to face him. Her pale eyes were red-rimmed, and her brow furrowed into a scowl. Trowa removed his hand, unsure of what he did wrong. The words died in his throat.

"You _understand_?" She questioned. Her voice was dangerously low, with an angry husk. Trowa did not know what to say, he opened his mouth to respond—to say something, but she continued.

"You think you understand? How could _you_ possibly understand?" She seethed. Trowa's eyes widened, unsure of what to make of the animosity in her features. He was too confused to speak in his own defense. She continued her tirade.

"You hardly valued you _own life_! How could you possibly understand this? I had _life_ inside me, Trowa! It was the most beautiful thing, untouched by everything I hated about my own life. She became my purpose, my reason to wake up. I had life in me, and I had to protect it. But I _failed_! I failed her. Nothing you do or say can change that," Her voice's volume was parabolic, the last syllables fading to less than a tearful whisper. Trowa sighed—a barely noticeable gesture.

"Catherine..."

---

More will come soon... review please


	4. Chapter 4

**Lost**

"Cathy, I told Manager that we can't perform tonight," Trowa said through her closed bedroom door. The door was angrily jerked open. Half dressed and visibly irate, Catherine narrowed her eyes at Trowa. Her glare intensified, when his facial expression did not change.

"And just _what_ gives you the right?" She asked. Her voice was low and angry. Heat seemed to emanate from her features.

"You aren't well. You almost fell on the tight rope last time," He explained. Somehow he spoke with gentle patience and unwavering finality simultaneously. He folded his arms across his chest, but his face remained unchanged. An uncharacteristic growl erupted from her throat as she pounded her fists against his chest.

"That's unfair, Trowa! What gives you the right? _I_ say if I'm unable to perform! Not you! Don't put words in my mouth!" She cried. Catherine raised her fist to strike him again, but he easily snatched it out of the air. She gasped quietly.

"You going to hit me now, Trowa?" She asked darkly. Trowa's eyes widened, and he nearly let go of her—but thought better of it.

"No. Never. If you promise not to hit me, I'll let go," He stated calmly.

"Fine," She grumbled. He immediately released her hand, which she inspected for marks or bruising. She found none, but still glowered at him through her long auburn lashes. She folded her arms.

"I'm concerned about your physical health, Cathy. When is the last time you've eaten? When's the last time you even came out of your room?"

She didn't respond.

"You need rest, but I don't think being here is going to help you. Manager suggested that we both take a vacation. It could be good for both of us," Trowa said. Though his voice was calm, there was strain in his eyes. They pleaded with her—wide with the hundreds of questions he wished he had the heart to ask. Catherine's heated expression lessened, and her hands fell to her sides. She sighed, and retreated into her room. Trowa followed, taking a seat next to her on the bed. She wrung her hands, and he wrapped them in his own.

"Do you really think it would help?" She asked quietly. Trowa nodded. The questions in his eyes quieted to make room for the hope that began to shine through.

"All right," She finally said, "Where are we going?"

"Quatre wants us to come visit for a little while, if that's all right---we can go somewhere else if you'd like," He replied.

"No, it's fine. Can we leave tonight?" Catherine questioned. Trowa nodded, removing his hands from hers only to wrap his arms around her. She leaned into his brotherly embrace. He was sturdy and strong—a comforting rock in her tumult of emotion and pain. He gently kissed her cheek.

"Pack your things. I'll book the flight and fix something for us to eat," Trowa instructed releasing her from his arms. Catherine nodded reluctantly as he stood.

She released a heavy sigh once the door closed behind him, and began to pack her things. Her particulars were first, then clothes and shoes. She carefully folded the only dress she owned, lowering it into her small bag. Catherine picked up her journal and hesitated before packed it. It had been a gift from John, the manager. She ran her fingers over the simple leather binding before she snapped it open. There was only one entry. It was short and in verse. Catherine's lips tugged into a tiny smile as her eyes slowly read her careful script. It was the only poem she had ever written—She always thought that poetry was a little beyond her. But tragedy and loss seemed to have that effect on her. Even her thoughts had become more poetic. Ever since…the loss she had nothing but poems to describe her. Since then, her heart soared on the divine wings of tragedy. Ama—her beacon of light, hope and beauty. Ama—her taste of peace, heaven and life. Innocence that bloomed with in her like a flower, rooting in her heart and soul.

Catherine read the words aloud. The silence in the room was hollow and empty, reminding her how empty she felt.

"_For a little while, _

_It seemed that I had stumbled upon innocence_

_In its newest, purest form_," She began. Her voice was soft, slow and steady. For once it wasn't tearful. She inhaled deeply, continuing.

"_Like a tiny beacon of hope she glowed inside me,_

_The tainted vessel that I am._

_She was my immaculate conception_

_Conceived through the convergence of two lost souls_

_Each searching for something_

_Some form of peace or understanding_

_Or maybe love._" Her voice was hushed and adoring. A wistful smile tugged at her lips at the memory. She remembered warmth and clumsy, yet delicate kisses. She continued.

"_The wishful me whispered wild wonders_

_In the coolness of the hushed night_

_By the light of the moon_

_I caressed her_

_Knowing that this pureness was transient_

_But hoping it would last long enough to set me free,"_ The smile faded to look of pained longing.

"_But as soon as I'd grown attached to my hope_

_She dissolved in a sea of red_

_Forever lost--_

_Or at least, lost for now." _ A single tear snuck out of her eyes, dropping on to the pages of the journal. She used a single finger to wipe it away.

"_I spent a whole night_

_Wishing that I could weep her loss_

_But I was too far gone_

_I lost my innocence twice_

_This is my second stolen pearl_

_And yet, I couldn't shed one single tear_

_I guess I was a little too empty."_

Another tear escaped. The other one had gotten lonely. Catherine didn't bother to wipe it away. The adoration in her voice had trickled into a tearful whisper once again.

"_Though she is gone,_

_Her spirit lingers in my thoughts_

_My flower that will never fade_

_My Amarante."_

Catherine sat down on the bed, still staring at her own words. Save for her stilted, teary breathing the room was glaringly silent—hollow once more. The hand that didn't hold the journal drifted to her stomach, to the swell that wasn't there. She bowed her head.

"Is that what Ama is short for?"

Catherine looked up, closing the book. She hadn't heard Trowa open the door. But there was, leaning against the frame with folded arms. She nodded. He uncrossed his arms and walked towards her, moving over her suitcase. Trowa sat down beside her. She wiped her face.

"What does it mean?"

"Flower that will never fade," She replied with a wistful smile. Trowa smiled with his eyes.

"It's pretty," He stated.

"Thank you, did you get the tickets?"

"Yeah, we'll leave for the spaceport in an hour, but first we must eat. Come on. I made soup," He said, squeezing her shoulder. Catherine nodded and stood.

"Thanks Trowa, for everything."

"It's what I'm here for, sis," He said, "Now let's go eat."

--

Before anyone reports me for copy and pasting material---I wrote that poem. That said, thanks for reading. Review and tell me what you think.

Syl


	5. Chapter 5

**Lost**

Trowa had told Catherine that they'd be going to see Quatre, and she assumed they were headed for L4. She had been so physically and emotionally drained that she was almost stumbling through the spaceport. Trowa handled the tickets, baggage, and guided her to her window seat on the ship. She was too tired to even notice the very tiny smile playing upon his lips. Too tired to even dream, Catherine fell asleep before take off.

A sudden rumbling snatched from her dreamless sleep. She gasped, looking to Trowa. Turbulence was never good. She had to know if he was alright. He was buckling his seatbelt. With franticly panicked movements, Catherine decided to do the same. Her mind jeered at her movements caustically. _Why buckle up if you'll be tossed into the vacuum of space? _

"What's going on?" She asked breathlessly. Trowa smiled. _Now he smiles,_ she thought almost bitterly. Was he mocking her?

"We're entering the atmosphere," He replied gently. Catherine balked.

"Atmosphere? I thought we were going to see Quatre!" She exclaimed. His shoulders shook. Catherin couldn't tell if it was from the turbulence, or if he was silently chuckling. Perhaps it was a mixture of both. The ship was shaking violently and she swallowed down the urge to wretch. She would have to figure out if he was laughing at her later.

"We are," He said.

"L4 doesn't have an atmosphere, Trowa."

Catherine gripped the armrests as the turbulence became more intense. She bit her lower lip and squeezed her eyes shut. Fear and nausea fought for dominion over her body. She hoped that for Trowa's sake that fear would win.

"Earth does," He replied. Catherine envied his calmness. She focused on his voice and words to ignore the rumbling.

"Quatre's on Earth?" She questioned opening her eyes. Trowa nodded. The rumbling subsided and a voice resonated over the intercom.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have successfully entered the atmosphere. We will be landing in a few hours."

Catherine released her death grip on her armrest and sank into the cushions of her seat. She looked over at Trowa, who was putting away a small book. It resembled a notebook more than a novel, but its pages did not have lines. She was curious, but did not ask. She was more interested about how he failed to mention she'd be visiting Earth for the first time—ever.

"Where are we going? Where are we staying? Can we afford this?"

"Don't worry about it, Sis. It's taken care of, trust me."

"Trowa," Catherine began, but he shook his head once. Trowa folded his arms across his chest and closed his eyes. "Trust me," he repeated with a little bit more emphasis. Catherine sighed. For the first time in a while she felt something different. She wasn't feeling numb or angry. She was confused, curious and nervous. Instead of feeling empty, she was full of questions. Catherine had only heard second hand accounts about Earth. She had scene picture, but they did not seem real---so beautiful. What would it be like in real life? What does the sun feel like? What does the moon look like from Earth? How big was the ocean?

Catherine settled her questions, and closed her eyes. Her thoughts subsided to a dull roar, and it was not long before sleep pulled her eyelids closed again. It seemed like she had just closed her eyes when Trowa was gently shaking her arm.

"Get up, Sis, we're here."

Catherine's eyes snapped open, and she stood up abruptly. Her surroundings did not spin, but the ground seemed to lurch a bit. She faltered.

"Easy. Your body has to adjust to the gravity," Trowa admonished. Catherine nodded, but couldn't keep the smile from tugging at her lips. Earth. She was more nervous than excited, and Trowa hoped that he hadn't made a mistake in planning the vacation. After grabbing both their bags, he helped her off of the ship and into the spaceport. By the time they had made it to the end of the glass hall way into the actual port, she was able to walk on her own.

"It looks like the other spaceport," Catherine said with noticeable disappointment.

"You expected more?" Trowa asked. Catherine shrugged, reaching for her bag that hung from his shoulder. He furrowed his brow and swatted at her hand.

"Maybe, I'm not sure," She replied, "It's Earth you know. Everything's supposed to be bigger and better." She reached for the bag again, but he moved out of her reach.

"We're still inside," He pointed out.

"I'm not an invalid, you know? I can carry my own bag!" She exclaimed.

"You're tired."

"And you're not?" She countered. Trowa's lip quivered into that almost smile of his. How is that no matter how badly she feels that she still manages to look out for him? He guessed it was the big sister in her, or more likely the mother in her.

"Not as tired as you, it's your first time on Earth. Take it easy."

"I'll take the bags," A new voice said. Catherine turned around to be staring up into big aquamarine eyes. They smiled at her from under a mop of golden hair, which peeked out of a worn baseball cap. Catherine smiled—both corners of her mouth turning up for once. Quatre's smile was warm, gentle, and comforting. Her smile broadened.

"Quatre! It's good to see you!" She exclaimed. Catherine hugged him, and he embraced her warmly. Quatre lazily rubbed a circle on her back before holding her at arms length for a moment. The warmth and closeness of his body was oddly comforting. She was slightly disappointed when he released her and nodded towards Trowa.

"Trowa, Catherine, it's great to see you. How was your flight?"

"It was okay. Trowa didn't tell me we were headed to Earth, when we went through the atmosphere I thought the plane was going down." She said. Quatre chuckled.

"You didn't tell her?"

"It was a surprise," He replied. Quatre laughed, "I have a car waiting outside."

The sun's heat toed the line between comforting and oppressive. The immense beauty of the island was unlike anything Catherine had ever seen. The sky was a deep, vast blue. It went for miles in every direction, with puffs of white clouds in various places. Grass, leaves, weeds—the green was so vibrant. Robust reds, pinks and yellows spangled the area. It was like someone had taken a colony and colored it in. She swore she saw heaven, even though the sign said "Welcome to the Bahamas"

"Beautiful…" She mused quietly as she admired the scenery from the car's window. Quatre smiled, "First time?"

"Yes," She answered eyes fixed on view of the ocean. They were crossing over a bridge. Paradise Island, she read from one of the signs. In her mind, it was very aptly named. She imagined what it would be like to live and raise a family there. She began to imagine a child's laughter as they splashed in the waves. Catherine closed her eyes, and both hands drifted unconsciously to her midsection.

"This is one of my favorite places on Earth," Quatre stated warmly.

"I can see why," She said softly. Her eyes welled with tears, but she refused to cry. Not then, not in front of Quatre and Trowa. Catherine hid the sadness with a smile, but knew both had noticed when they exchanged knowing glances of concern.

"I keep meaning to buy a place here, but I've fallen in love with this hotel."

"A hotel?" Trowa asked with a cocked eyebrow.

"Yes, when you see it—you'll understand. It's themed on the ancient legend of the Lost Continent of Atlantis. The architecture is old, but stunning."

"Which one is it?"

There was a massive salmon colored building in the distance. It towered over the smaller, more reserved buildings of the island. The sun glinted in her eyes, and she could not make out anything else.

"It's pinkish one over that way," Quatre said gesturing towards large building, "It's beautiful, I think you'll both love it."

Catherine's hands did not stray from her stomach, but her smile became a little bit more believable.

"I think we all will," she whispered.

---

Sorry, about the wait. But here it is, a little less angsty than before. Things are starting to look up for Catherine.

Syl


End file.
